


People You May Know

by taesyubb



Category: GOT7
Genre: Anxiety, Drama, Friendship, Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Poetry, Nightmares, Nothing described, Panic Attacks, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, college setting if you squint, i love mark i swear, it ends well, it's just mentioned, poetry competition thingy, sorta - Freeform, the others help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8809831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taesyubb/pseuds/taesyubb
Summary: Mark watched Jackson leave the backstage, biting on his lip and realising that winning no longer meant anything to him. He had to do this for himself, it was only for himself now, he wanted people to know, to raise awareness and do something that he wanted for months, but never managed to gather enough courage to tell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Kevin Kantor's poem "People you may know". That's from where the title and the lines are taken from. I don't claim any of the poems mentioned or the video ideas, i just used them as inspiration. 
> 
> It would help if you saw the video made by BuzzFeed before since it is mentioned and it gives background information:   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XI_i6_ekP4

Jackson looked behind the curtain, around the whole festive hall. It was already packed and he saw their little clique on the first row, right next to the right side where a small row of 5 stairs made the connection between the room and the stage. Turning his head he saw Mark, one of his best friends and brother from another mother, play with his hands anxiously, fingers twisting the ring adorning one of his fingers (courtesy of Jaebum who thought it would be better if the older boy stopped digging his nails into his palm and did something else when he was nervous, when anxiety caged his heart).

His whole attire was simple, black skinny jeans, high top converses and an oversized beige sweater that seemed to swallow his whole frame. Being naturally skinny like Mark was, the sweater only served to make him look even smaller and skinnier.  Bambam and Youngjae suggested he should wear something classier, but the oldest was holding his ground. Even if it was the final of his National University Performance Poetry competition, he didn’t want to appear different than he really was. They thought he was just being a hipster. Jackson knew the familiarity of his clothes gave him comfort and eased his nerves.

As he watched the other continue to bite on his already red lower lip, anxiousness obviously showing in his actions, Jackson felt two contradicting feelings inside him: one of happiness, how overjoyed and proud he was that one of his closest friends got so far with a hobby of his, especially when said person was usually reserved and didn’t like talking that much with people he wasn’t close with. He specifically remembered the first time Mark tried spoken poetry and how shaken he had been, how if Jinyoung and himself didn’t prompt him to continue and keep trying, he would have probably given up already, leaving everything he had done for nothing. But they encouraged him and with them the other 4 of their friends listened to his poems, easily realising how much they mean to the older and joined in supporting him.

However, relief was the other one. He was relieved that after this day everything will be over and they’d get their friend back, that he’ll get _his_ best friend back. Ever since finding out he was a finalist of the competition a few months back, ever since the night they went to a club to celebrate this, ever since Mark skipped the next few weeks of courses, apparently having to visit some relatives, he wasn’t the same. The change in his actions was quite small, but if you had an eye for them they were practically screaming.

The young male became more secluded and guarded, he no longer smiled freely and without a care in a world, getting him to laugh out loud was sometimes a gargantuan work. He never shared his verse with them anymore, saying they were still unfinished and that they’d have to wait like everybody else, the video adjourning the poem also a secret, being edited and arranged only by him. He kept secrets and Jackson just wanted his friend back, wanted the stress the competition put on him gone and forgotten, certain it was the cause of the change.

Jackson walked to the other, smiling at him and pulling him in a hug, startling the older male, before he relaxed lightly with a sigh.

“Markie, stop being so tense!”

“Why did I agree to let you stay here until it starts? I could have gotten anyone else—“

“Oh, shut it, you love me. Now calm down it’ll go well! You’re going to win, I’m sure of it!” He said ever so positive, as he squeezed Mark’s slender frame. Not noticing the shadow on his friend’s face.

“It’s not that important… “

“Of course it is! You worked so hard. We barely saw you…  I miss you.”

“Jacks it’s not like—“

“Contestants you have 3 more minutes to get ready. Everyone who does not participate is asked to return to their seats in the audience. Thank you.”

The static voice interrupted Mark, making him huff in annoyance, while Jackson smiled. That was a glimpse of the Mark he knew.

“Gotta go now! You’ll slay it Markiepooh, you’ll see! Fighting!” He exclaimed, making Mark smile before he went to join the others in the hall, completely missing his friend’s expression.

~~~

 

Mark watched Jackson leave the backstage, biting on his lip and realising that winning no longer meant anything to him. He had to do this for himself, it was only for himself now, he wanted people to know, to raise awareness and do something that he wanted for months, but never managed to gather enough courage to tell. He trusted his friends, he loved them dearly, and they were like his brothers.

However the words remained stuck in his throat, chocking him as the memories assaulted him relentlessly. Sure, he was better than then, but better didn’t mean that he was okay, that he was good, that the nightmares stopped and he could sleep for a whole week without waking up, body overcome by tremors, shaking uncontrollably as tears ran freely down his cheekbones, his shirt and bedding drenched in his own sweat. It didn’t mean he didn’t need half an hour to calm his ragged breath, 2 to 4 times a week he had to bring himself back from the dark corners of his mind and stop the panic attack, the fear clawing at his windpipe as he screamed into his pillow, muffling the heartbreaking sobs Jackson was bound to hear from the other room if he let them free. He would eventually calm down, but it didn’t mean he could fall back asleep those times.

No. It didn’t.

He couldn’t tell them, he couldn’t tell them what happened after they went out celebrating all those months back, just because he said he could just walk home by himself.

_“What could happen?”_

These words came back mocking him in every one of his dreams, they chased him and in the end made him sick, his doctor, the one who helped him immensely and of whom his friends knew nothing about, worked with him so he could gather his courage, come to terms with what happened. He could still remember how he brought up his idea to Dr. Nam and expected him to disapprove, but instead the man enthusiastically agreed, helped him with it and they started using practice for the competition as a therapy method, since he didn’t want to do it at the club. It was his thing, a thing close to his heart and until he was ready, no one would hear of it.

He was still lost in his thoughts when the professor pulled him out of them. The girl before him was going on the stage, clearing her throat before starting to say her poem. Her verse was strong and full of meaning. All of them were, his own, the girl’s, everyone else’s, because the theme was Personal Stories, the video behind being optional, but most of them used it. It was there to supply their words, to emphasise on their words, on their message.

The audience was shocked a few times before, but their eyes were glassy as Jimin finished her poem. When she came back, passed the red curtain and pushed her long hair backwards behind her ear, everyone raised their hands and turned them to the sides fast, in the sign language for clapping. It was a thing they all did, not because they didn’t want to clap, but because it was their way of accepting and recognising everyone’s struggle, everyone’s talent, everyone’s effort that was meant to be applauded.

Jimin smiled at him encouragingly and he managed to smile back to her, even though it was barely noticeable. She was a dear friend of his, with whom he hadn’t talked in months. He hoped she would understand.

He knew she would.

~~~

Mark made his way to the middle of the stage, where a single microphone was standing. Stopping in front of it, he could see that in the first row, 6 seats were occupied by the people he held most dear to him, closer to his heart, as important as his family. His hands were trembling and Jinyoung could see it from where he was. He searched his friend’s eyes and when he finally caught Mark’s gaze he mouthed the words that he knew would help Mark.

**“** **Yǒngqì, Yien.” [1]**

The corner of Mark’s lips twitched at the words, and then he looked up and nodded at the guy who managed the projection.  He licked his lips and laced his fingers together, taking a deep breath as his hands disappeared beneath the long sleeves of his sweater.

_“When my rapist showed up under the ‘People you may know’ tab on Facebook”_

A collective gasp was heard from the audience, the 6 on the front row paling almost immediately, remaining frozen and confused. The youngers didn’t fully grasp what their oldest hyung meant, but dawn and realization fell on the older ones. Jackson’s jaw clenched, Jinyoung reached for Jaebum’s hand immediately as the older met him halfway and squeezed his hand, their  codependency showing, Youngjae’s eyes widened as Yugyeom clutched Bambam’s sleeve with his fingers.

Mark’s eyes were already watery and his voice was slightly shaking, but he continued to say his verse, not going to stop for a second. He had the timing perfect, the video working behind him as the pictures showed up on the projector. It was time to let people know, so his mind sent the message to his mouth and reproduced the words he knew even backwards by now, his feelings, which were hidden for so long so obviously reproduced in the syllables falling of his lips.

_“That is /If I don’t count the clockwork murder/ That I make of my own memory/ Every time I drive down Colfax Avenue.”_

Bambam’s fingers twitched before his hands formed fists. He remembered that street, he remembered that day. A few weeks after the celebration, just mere two weeks after Mark’s absence from classes, the elder was giving him a lift. They were going to meet the others at a pub they liked to eat out.

“Hyung, why don’t we go down Colfax Av? It’s going to be faster that way. We’ll just detour if we keep going this way!”

He pointed out and turned his head to look out the mirror, not giving the way Mark’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and his sudden devoid of emotion voice any second thought.

“Okay.”

It was never okay and Bambam never managed to see it.

_“I call him the Wolf”_

The notebook page appearing in the video was the same one back then.

Youngjae bit on his trembling lip, remembering sitting next to Mark a few months back, during one of their shared classes and watching him scribble absentmindedly on his notebook the word ‘the wolf’. Once. Twice. Thrice. Again and again and again. In all sizes and in all directions as they start filling the notebook page, not having a purpose, some of them bolded, some of them lighter, barely visible on the blue-purpleish lines.

“For your next poem?”

He asked good naturedly, with his usual radiant smile, the one that never ceased to make the older brighten. Only that day it didn’t. It didn’t have the same effect ever since Mark was absent for weeks. It took a while for Youngjae to realise. He didn’t realise back then. The distance, the wall that formed between them.

“Yeah..”

Youngjae turned his head and buried his face in Jaebum’s arm, not bearing to look at the mocking page anymore.

He had been so ignorant at what was right in front of him.

_“Facebook informs me/ That we have 3 mutual friends”_

Yugyeom was scrolling through his Facebook feed, remembering that he saw something funny on Mark’s wall that he didn’t finish reading yet. He tried searching for his profile, but he couldn’t find it. Turning towards his friend, he saw him scrolling through his phone. Frowning he poked his hyung’s arm.

“Hyung what happened to your Facebook?”

The other froze for a few seconds, before he shrugged his shoulders, not raising his eyes from the phone, even though his thumb stopped moving and was shaking lightly.

“I don’t need it anymore… Why keep it?”

It was peculiar, but…

“If you say so hyung.”

He accepted his decision without thinking twice about it, even though he knew that Mark checked it almost religiously, being on Tumblr, on various funny or animal pics pages, more often than not spamming their group with them. Leave it to their eldest not to actually talk, but spam them with pictures.

He didn’t give it another thought. As tears fell from the eyes of the soft hearted giant, his grip on Bambam’s sleeve was tighter than ever.

He should have pressed the issue more.

_“People that don’t know, /I want to know, /but I’m afraid to let know.”_

The words hit Jaebum like a wave, the icy cold feeling invading his body again. The oldest of their group was one of the few he was closest with. Being friends since they were in diapers, meeting him when he was still the shy, timid boy who barely spoke and only played with him, he followed Jaebum like he was the elder. Like a small duckling. When Mark met Jackson and they hit if off immediately, he’d been jealous. Up until then he was the only one that called Mark, Yien. He figured that was how Mark felt when they were put in different classes and he joined a club, meeting Jinyoung. They didn’t drift away though.

They still had their own movie nights sometimes. If someone else saw them during these, they would have certainly thought they were a couple. Not looking like it, Jaebum was actually a cuddler and Mark knew it, so they usually watched the movie with Mark’s legs drapped over Jaebum’s  lap, his head rested onto the other’s broader shoulders as he was kept in a tight embrace.

It was safe, it was familiar, and it was the first time in months they did it. It was a month and a half before the Poetry Slam final. Jaebum sensed that something was wrong with his oldest friend, but he never addressed things. He knew Mark would tell him when he wanted to; he knew when to press things because Mark didn’t know how to say it. He decided to just wait.

“Bummie?”

“Yeah Yien-ah?”

He pause didn’t come as a surprise. Mark’s tone was apprehensive and timid, something he hasn’t heard being directed to him in years.

“… Nothing… I… missed this.”

Jaebum knew that this wasn’t what Mark wanted to say. But he didn’t press. He failed to recognise the moment he had to insist.

His grip on Jinyoung’s hand tightened considerably, as he just ignored the wet trails on his cheeks. He would never forgive himself for failing to be there for his friend.

He’s been so stupid.

_“That know the word no! No! No!”_

Jinyoung’s grip matched Jaebum’s, knowing fully well that both of their hands hurt and were slowly going numb. But he didn’t register it, the pain, the numbness, the grip that turned his knuckles white.

He was leaving the theater club meeting to go the library to pick up some playbook they needed. He stopped dead in tracks when he passed a room, the all too familiar voice being heard through the slightly open door. The words were shouted and he realised it was Mark as he crept closer to the door. He has barely managed to glimpse the crouched down silhouette, when the door was slammed shut, his ears still picking up the sounds.

“No nono no…”

It was like a repeated cassette. He frowned, thinking that maybe they were rehearsing something from the poetry club, but he couldn’t help but notice the desperation that the words held,the sharps intake of breath being heard over Mr.’s Woo soothing voice.

“Come on, breath with me, you have to calm down…”

He wanted to knock on the door and see what the problem was, but his phone buzzed and the other members of the club told him to hurry up through messages.

He left and forgot his initial intention of asking Mark what happened. Now that he thought about it, how could he have foreseen the fact that his friend was in the psychologist’s office obviously having a panic attack?

He sniffled as he watched Mark continue his poem, hands no longer joined but gesticulating, Jinyoung acknowledging the desperation behind the word ‘no’ as being the same one as the one from that day. 

Forgetfulness was something he never hated more in his life.

_“When I told my brother/ He also asked me why I didn’t fight back.”_

Jackson covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a sob, at the back of his mind knowing he wasn’t the only one crying. They joined Mark who continued to say everything he kept inside for so long, but kept his tears at bay, his eyes glassy and the salty droplets seconds away from rolling off his eyelashes.

And Jackson knew and finally understood. He knew why Mark avoided them, refused to go out with them for a while, why he wanted to stay at home on the couch, why he disappeared sometimes and just said he went on a walk. Why the walks were so frequent. On the same days, at the same hour.

He knew, discerned his fault and knew that that particular verse wasn’t about Mark’s actual brother, that the name mentioned after wasn’t real. It was aimed at him, his best friend showing him how easily he passed on judgment,how senseless he had been with his comments.

They were eating breakfast, Mark was more picking at his food and playing with it around his plate than actually eating it, but they were eating together and listening to the morning news on the television.  That was when news about a rapist came up and the lady said that the criminal was targeting mainly young boys. Jackson didn’t see the way his best friend’s boy suddenly went rigid, his knuckles turning while as he held on the spoon, cereal long forgotten.

“Seriously? How sick can that man be? Plus that this is a joke. You can obviously fight back!”

The Chinese man commented without thinking, eyes trained on the TV.

“Even someone skinny like you can do that. Like you just need to know where to hit.”

He jumped back when Mark suddenly got up, went to dump his half eaten bowl in the sink and mumbled fast, the waver in his voice barely noticeable. His abrupt movement puzzled Jackson.

“I’m not feeling well.”

“Maybe you should—“

He didn’t get to finish his words when the older boy almost ran out of the kitchen to his room and slammed the door behind him, the lock turning to signify Mark isolated himself in his room once again.

Even if he didn’t know what Mark has been through, his comment had still been ignorant. The words remaining on the video, the black letters on the while background were a reminder of that.

‘Fought back’ they read.

Looking to the side he saw that his friends weren’t in a better state than he was: Youngjae was sobbing already, Jaebum probably would have been properly bawling his eyes too if they weren’t in public, his hold on JInyoung’s hand giving him away, Jinyoung himself, Yugyeom and Bambam were either crying silently or looking ahead at Mark with pained expressions.

 They all blamed themselves, they couldn’t have known, Mark didn’t want them to know until now, but they all took pride in knowing each other very well. Yet they couldn’t at least perceive that something was wrong with him. Jackson knew how much the older must have been blaming himself.

Even though he was lost in his thoughts, the sudden stop to the video took his attention. The light shone on Mark as one tear made way down his cheek, a small smile on his lips.

_“I promise/ Every day I write a poem titled Tomorrow/ It is a hand written list of the people that I know that love me/ And I make sure to put my own name at the top.”_

When the mention of the list left his lips the video behind him showed a last picture with the title written at the top in the student’s handwriting: “Tomorrow”. It indeed had his name at the top, but underneath it, one under another, there weren’t names.

There were initials: JW, IJ, PJ, KY, KB.

The hall exploded in applauses much like they did for the people before him as Mark bowed and hurried backstage, throwing one more look towards them before he disappeared behind the curtain.

He didn’t blame them.

~~~

Mark left the backstage almost the last, holding in his right hand the trophy, a small smile onto his lips. Second place never felt so good. He was more than excited that Jimin won the Slam, clapping for her until his palms hurt. His ribs still ached from the tight hug he was assaulted with the second he stepped backstage. Jimin might be small, but her strength was no joke.

Adjusting the strap of his backpack onto his shoulder, he got outside into the hallway and saw 6 pairs of sad, apologetic, red rimmed eyes on him. He knew everything might have come as a shock to them. But he hoped they understood in the end. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, but he had to come to terms with everything that happened before he could tell them.

 

Jackson’s lower lip was trembling when they finally faced Mark, having just calmed down, but feeling his throat constrict at the sight of their friend. They were all so sorry and even though with the assurance that the eldest gave them through the list, his, and virtually everyone’s fear was that Mark wasn’t going to forgive them. He didn’t know what the others did in order for all of them to look so devastated, but if they were even remotely close to what he did, he knew they all had the same thought:

That the eldest would reject their apology and push them away completely.

Silence fell onto them as they all just looked at each other, Jinyoung opening his mouth to say something when Mark sniffled, fresh tears welling up into his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry…”

It was all he could manage to say before he was tackled into a hug by Jackson, being held tightly, before the others joined into the hug as well, surrounding the oldest from all sides.

It never crossed their minds that he could be feeling sorry towards them, all too focused on thinking how could they apologise. Mark himself was frightened that they wouldn’t forgive him for keeping such a thing away from them for all these months and that his shifty, avoidant behavior had done nothing to help his case.

However, as they blocked the whole hallway (not that it mattered since it was empty anyway) with their group hug, a few of them starting to cry again as the oldest let out everything he held inside while in their company, they knew everything was going to be okay eventually. They all had to sit down and talk about it, figure out the loose ends, but they would manage. They’d all promised into their heads already that they will do all that is in their power to help Mark, to support him, while the latter vowed to not keep his thoughts on this matter hidden anymore.

It was something they needed to overcome, in the end their friendship would be strengthened and they’d come out stronger. Because when everything was laid out on the table, they were more than that.

They were a family.

* * *

 [1] courage

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Jimin recited: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4G2NXsuYyM  
> The first time "People You May Know" was recited and basically how I imagined Mark reciting as well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoyfunmYIpU 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please let me know what you thought of it.


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